


body mod for the vwild an fuckin impressionable

by Oshii



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Infection, Lots of Hurt, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Piercings, abscess, and porrim picks up the pieces, cronus is an irresponsible dumbass, h/c hot and ready, oozy pus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1722494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oshii/pseuds/Oshii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cronus pierces himself to look like a hume, with predictable results. Porrim reluctantly cleans up the mess. H/C, ear piercing, body modification, infection, pus, grossness, lots of hurt and ew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	body mod for the vwild an fuckin impressionable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caimanriseup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caimanriseup/gifts).



> first fic I wrote in response to a post I made on tumblr a few days ago [under "urrikahz"]
> 
> caimanriseup replied to your post:h/c hot and ready
> 
> Cronus gets fin rot from poor piercing job on ear fins.

You did it because you knew it’d look totally fuckin’ radical, just like the humes in that magazine who pierced their ears (hell, the one with the big silver bar through the top of his ear was positively –scrumptious- and who were you to _not_ wanna emulate that, you’re young and fuckin impressionable, nobody would think too ill’a you for it in the long run).

But the thing was, you didn’t have any alcohol on hand and you didn’t quite grasp the whole concept of flame sterilization (and frankly, the whole thing did squick you out a bit), so you cut the picture outta the magazine, ran the safety pin under tap water (it’ll wash the germs off, right? same principle works on your hands, you’re sure it’ll work here) and then hesitated only a brief moment, needle hovering over the webbing of your ear fin, before you pushed it through.

wow [vwowv]

 _that_ fuckin stung, veiny-translucent fin membrane going bright violet with inflamed irritation already, safety pin sticking halfway out and crooked like you’d shoved it in blind, which you absolutely had done.

but oh well, you’d already gone this far, so you push it through the rest of the way and clip it shut, and _voila,_ your ear is fuckin’ pierced, wouldja look at that glory and beauty ‘a fuckin human emulation. You are the hottest shit on legs and will only soar in attractiveness soon as you get a real ring to put in there, this you are absolutely fuckin’ sure.

—

You haven’t been in the cupe for more than a couple of hours before you reach upward with shaking claws and haul yourself out of the sopor, gasping for breath and grimacing as your newly pierced ear _throbs_ with stinging pain, the slime seeping into the fresh wound and irritating the –fuck- outta it, and it only hurts more when you reach up with gentle fingertips to examine the area and find it burning hot to the touch, and, oh, ew, something sticky is oozing out from the piercing, and it smells fuckin’ godawful, that can’t be good.

But you figure, you –did- just shove a fuckin’ needle through your delicate ear membrane, the tissue’s gonna hurt as it heals, right? So you resolve to quit bein’ a fuckin’ baby, and as far as the sticky ooze goes, hell, that’s probably normal far as you’re concerned, so you think nothing more of it and lower yourself back into the warm cupe, sopor seeping into the soft fibers of your pan and lulling you back to sleep.

—

It _hurts._

Your ear _hurts_ and throbs and stings with all the fuckin fire and power’a Megido’s rage, so potent is the pain, but still you lean back against the tree in your cuffed jeans and shiny leather jacket and try not to set your jaw too tight, don’t wanna let on to any’a these fuckers that you’re hurtin’, best not to let ‘em see you’re weak.

Porrim walks by, then, in all her jade-green resplendent glory, and you catch sight’a her fuckin’ earrings and nose rings and lip rings and scowl. She makes ‘em look cool with no effort, now why can’t –you- do that. You’ll have to scrape one’a her rings to pop in your own ear hole – _ow_

“Cronus,” her sultry voice tugs you from your reverie, and you blink once, gazing fixedly at her.

“Maryam,” you reply, and then have to muster all’a your fuckin might and willpower not to –scream- when she reaches up and probes at the tender tissue of your ear fin, brow furrowing.

“What have you _done_ to yourself?” She whispers in terrified disgust, her black, painted lips parting to reveal fangs as she grimaces at the sticky pus oozing out from where your fin tissue is rejecting the safety pin.

“What’s it look like?” You retort, albeit through clenched teeth, releasing a muted sigh of relief when she pulls away, but continues to stare at you with undisguised revulsion.

“Cronus, I do hope you’re aware of the raging infection you’ve got brewing up there,” she says, folding her arms and fixing you with a last raised eyebrow-look for good measure. “I’d advise disinfectant, draining, and taking _that_ stupid thing,” she points to the pin, “out. “

She turns to leave, sashaying hips making her dress shimmy, and you indulge yourself in a courtesy three-second stare before sighing and calling, “Wait. Maryam, hang on a sec.”

She ignores you, and you cough into your fist, wincing at the reflexive twitch of your earfins (ow _ow_ fuckity _ow_ ) and hurry to catch up with her. “Porrim! Wait!”

At the urgency in your tone she _does_ turn, and her nostrils are flared with restrained anger. “ _What_. Do you want, Ampora?”

You shrink at her tone (although it’s nothing new to you to hear dames ‘round here speak to you like that, you figure puttin’ on the whole defensive-whipped front might ease her back a bit). Reaching up with one shaking hand to gently, gently cup your infected, inflamed earfin, you look up at her through dark lashes, knowing your eyes look huge and pleading, and utter the words, “C’n you help me out? I don’t have anythin’ passable in th’way ‘a disinfectant, ‘n my ear’s seriously feelin’ like it’s about t’fall off over here.”

She just looks at you for what seems like an eternity, icy glare fading and diminishing to a weary expression of being resigned to her fate, and she just _sighs_ in the most put-upon way before cuffing you upside the head – eliciting from you a surprised yelp as she fucks up your ‘do – and says “To my hive, you shambling derelict.”

—

“Porrim,” you’re begging her, voice raw from all the yelling you’ve been doing, “ _please_ , no more, please, I can’t fuckin’ take it, no m-” your head is in her lap and you are at her fuckin’ _mercy_ and she needs to know this, fuck why didn’t you establish a safeword or somethin’-

“Cronus,” she silences you, holding the cotton ball soaked with saline solution aloft and placing her other hand on your shoulder, stilling you, calming you. Her hand is jade cool, but you’re violetblood and you’re cooler, so to you she is warm and you have fantasized about that hand touching you for so long you can’t help but relax, albeit infinitesimally, under her cupped palm. “It needs to be done. I know it hurts, and I’m sorry, but need I remind you _you_ are the one who did this to yourself, not I.”

You’ve had an abscess high up on your fin, festering and rotting for three nights now, and holy _fuck_ did it hurt when she unclipped the safety pin and slid it out, the thin metal _scraping_ and pulling on your fin, and you’d thought the worst was over until she informed you she was ‘just getting started’ and you’re pretty sure you blacked out for a minute when the squeezing began.

‘Dear God,’ she’d uttered when the pus, running and thick and smelling fuck-awful, began oozing out in rivulets, running down the spiny membrane of your fin to drip onto your shoulder, staining your white T-shirt and drying in sticky crusts on her fingers as she squeezed and dabbed the ball.

You didn’t care much, you were too busy screwing your eyes shut and clenching fistfuls of her dress and screaming raw and horrible through gritted teeth, muscles straining and taut and cords popping out as your arms flexed with the need to _escape_ , to _run away_ , to _fight_ this agony. Why, oh why o fuckin’ _WHY_ did you do this to yourself, you wonder, too late too late.

Now she is pressing soaking, cold wet cotton balls high up on your fin, the saline solution she’d whipped up ‘specially for doctorin’ your irresponsible ass feeling blessedly cool against the hot, inflamed tissue. You whimper, blinking away the last of the tears running down your face.

“…Ssorry,” you’d managed to croak out after a while, feeling spent after all that exertion. “Y’didn’t hafta deal with me bein’ all gross-as-fuck an’ generally bein’ a pain in the ass, so, thanks. Mean it.”

Porrim merely smiles placidly and lifts the cotton ball to press gently against another spot, and she uses her free hand to stroke your hair back from your sweaty face. _That_ feels remarkably, unexpectedly good, and you sigh and close your eyes, leaning into her touch like a pawbeast.

“I would tell you not to make a habit out of this,” she replies, voice cool and neutral, “but seeing as this is _you_ we’re talking about, instead I’ll merely advise that if you ever again feel the sudden and irrepressible urge to do body modification of any sort, come to me, or at least sterilize your chosen goddamn equipment, Cronus.”

She’s drying your fin with a paper towel, and her pats are light and gentle, and even though you still wince at the touch on the epicenter of infection, you can’t help but smile through her ministrations. “Will do, babe,” you murmur, kneading the silk of her dress with your fingers, “will do.”


End file.
